An Unexpected Possibility
by moms5thchild
Summary: Just when the Dunbars thought things were settled in their lives, the unexpected happens.
1. Chapter 1

I don't own these, but I sure write about these guys a whole lot.

**Unexpected Possibilities **

Chapter One

Christine Sullivan Dunbar lived in two worlds; one flashy and superficial, the other more ordinary and yet sometimes just as superficial as the first. Walking the line between the two wasn't ever easy. Christie was often pulled in ways she never imagined when she studied journalism at Columbia. She would be damned if she lost one because of the other. Of course, in the war between these worlds is seemed like the battle never ended.

Each and every morning Christine Sullivan entered magazine in editor mode and sat in her office to read the newspapers. Actually, she read what her readers put in front of her because Christie really didn't have time to read the New York Times, London Times, Newsday and the other papers that needed to be read. Now she had a staff to take care of weeding out the unnecessary news items. So each day there were headlines, fashion news, who's who and what's what to go over. Personally Christie got most of her political views from the Daily Show; it was compact and amusing. She just didn't say that out loud. Yet, there were two sections Christie read everyday; the funnies and the obituaries. When she read these, she was Christie Dunbar and anchored to in other, non fashion world where she resided after office hours.

It was Monday morning, 8:00 a. m. when Christie pushed through her office door and slid out of her sodden, cold rain coat. The cold October rain had been so hard and penetrating she felt clammy straight through to her skin and down to her very bones.

"Good morning, Christie," Jed Nelson waltzed into office with a tray containing a latte, an ancient grains bagel and a stack of marked up newspapers. "This morning just showed that me Indian summer has gone back to the reservation."

"You are a real Neanderthal, aren't you?" Christie smiled and reached for the latte and this morning's Times.

"I can't help it, I was raised in Scranton." Jed checked his watch, "you have a quick meeting with Hannah from entertainment features at 8:45. I'll make sure she has a de-caf before the start. 10:00 o'clock to noon the new photogs will be presenting portfolios for the spring fashion week spreads; they have to be locked down as of last week. The accountants are here from one until what ever."

"Tell me again, why did I take this job?" She absentmindedly asked as she scanned the carefully marked sections of the paper.

"A combination of pathetic guilt and over weaning ambition," Jed snarked back until he remembered that Christie was here literally over Clay Simmons dead body. "Sorry, boss lady, just falling into that bitchy old stereo type."

Christie sighed as she remembered the horror of Clay's death less than a year before.

"You know what, I see you want to finish your brekkie alone, so I'll just do to my desk and update my resume."

Christie dropped the bagel back to its plate. It seemed no matter what she managed to accomplish the ghost of Clay Simmons would never be laid to rest. Oh well, time to relax and read the obituaries and be thankful she wasn't in one. Then she saw it. Christie grabbed the Newsday and tore it open to the obituaries there and found it again.

Christie reached over and buzzed the intercom. "Jed, cancel my appointments for today and get me a car."

* * *

"I like this," Jim said as he turned off his computer, "paperwork done, coffee fresh, me inside and the rain outside." 

"Where's your sense of adventure?" Marty Russo called as he went for more coffee.

"Anywhere but out in the rain, besides, it just ain't the same here without Karen complaining about the weather." Jim smiled as he remembered his partner's wedding. "Sunshine in Antigua sounds pretty good compared to the rain we got here."

"What makes you think her and Frank are gonna make it outta the bedroom." Marty dropped into his chair. "Daniels has enough money they could get room service the whole two weeks they're there." When Marty looked over at Dunbar he saw a lazy smile spread over his face. "What's with you?"

"Me?" Jim asked, "Just remembering my honeymoon, we went to the Bermuda. I think there are pink sand beaches there, but I never saw them."

After a beat, both men started laughing.

"Dunbar, my office," Fisk's voice filled the squad room.

"Dunbar, my office," imitated Russo, "what did you screw up this time?"

"I don't know, Marty. I have to remember the last time I covered your ass to see what it could be." Jim smirked as he entered the office.

The phone on Dunbar's desk rang. Marty looked around to make sure that no one was watching and picked up the receiver, "Eighth precinct."

Christie Dunbar's breathless voice hit Marty's ear. "Jimmy, I just read it in the paper. Terry and Anne Jansen are dead."

* * *

Was he sitting down? 

"Jansen was legally over the limit so his reaction time was slow." Fisk's voice leaked into his consciousness again. "He and his wife were DOA. Their son was in a booster seat in the back and survived the crash but is in intensive care. Now the screwed up part, Jansen's mother died of ovarian cancer two months ago and his father is saying he's unable to deal take care of a child." He heard his boss shift his weight in his chair. This was turning into a nightmare of escalating proportions. "Annie Jansen's family wants nothing to do with the boy. After checking the legal documents you are still listed as an alternate contact in case of emergency. Jim, Keith Jansen wants to sign over all responsibilities for the boy to you."

"What," the words stopped, but the meaning still didn't penetrate like they should have. "Boss, you're saying that I just had Terry Jansen's kid foisted on me."

"Jim," Fisk cut in, "I don't know what happened between you and Jansen, but the boy is three years old. He needs someone to look after him. If you can't do it there is always foster care."

Then his phone began to ring. Jim fumbled for his phone, was it in his back pocket? He was sitting. He twisted in his seat and pulled at the phone at the same time and it fell from his fingers and smashed to the floor.

"Damn."

"It's under my desk, but I think its dead." Fisk walked round and retrieved the phone from under his desk. "Nope, not completely, do you want me to see who called?"

Jim simply held his hand out and taking the phone punched in his code numbers. The fractured speaker buzzed, "Christie's office."

"The Jansen obituary was in was in the paper today. Do you think she read it?" The Lieutenant watched the different emotions wash over Dunbar's face.

"Yeah, she read it. She reads… Damn!" Jim shot up, knocking his chair back in the process. "When am I gonna be finished with Terry?"

Fisk leaned back on his desk. "I'd say you're finished with Terry Jansen now. There is a little boy that nobody wants and that is what you are probably going to have to deal with. I'm gonna get a coffee, why don't you use my phone and call you wife. I don't think that this needs to be splashed through the squad right now."

Fisk walked out of the office to see Russo and Selway waiting for someone to come out.

"Christie Dunbar phoned," Frank started. "I picked up the call. Is it true?"

"Yeah," Fisk looked at the men and past them to the other officers who knew about the Dunbar-Jansen feud and who couldn't keep their noses out of this sad, sordid business. "Terry and Anne Jansen were killed in that five car pile up on the Sunrise Parkway. Their son is in intensive care at Long Island Jewish and it looks like the next of kin have abdicated responsibility to the godparents; Jim and Christie Dunbar."

"Damn," Tom whispered.

Marty, for once, was speechless. Then the door to Fisk's office opened up and he saw Dunbar framed in the entryway, his face blank and his eyes shut. He was hiding whatever was inside. "Boss, I need to get to One PP and straighten this mess out."

"Need a lift," Fisk asked even though he knew Jim would not take it.

"Nyah, I'll cab it." He said as he walked into the chair that stuck out in the aisle. It was the first time Fisk had seen Dunbar do that since he started here over a year before.

"No, this time I'm making sure you get there in one piece. Besides, I got some stuff that need to go there so I can kill two birds with one stone. Get ready, I'll have everything together and we leave in ten minutes."

Tom and Marty stayed quiet while Jim got his things together and pulled on his coat.

"Jim," Tom came up to him and patted his shoulder, "I'll check with human resources and see if the union can help get things worked out."

"Thanks," Jim slapped his leg to get Hank up and ready to go, "I think I'll need all the help I can get."

After the elevator doors shut on Fisk and Dunbar Marty Russo let out a long whistle. "Did you ever think that God's got something in for that guy?"

"I don't know," Tom said as he started to find the phone numbers he needed to get the ball rolling for Terry Jansen's child and the Dunbar's taking over his care. "Maybe this will end up a good thing."

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**An Unexpected Possibility**

Chapter Two

Abby Solomon could feel waves of hostility pushing out from the well dressed couple on the couch. In all her time as a social worker at Long Island Jewish she had never before felt sorry for someone attempting to rid himself of a child, but Keith Jansen was as beaten down and broken as any individual she had ever seen. The Dunbars were treating him as if he should be scraped off the bottom of the world's cosmic shoe. If only they would open their eyes they would see this man was not capable of taking care of a small child.

But then again, maybe it was eyes that were the problem here. Some eyes could only see the past and the hurt that was there, and it was the here and now that had to be dealt with.

"Just how did you get my name" the detective snarled to the social worker.

"I gave it to her," squeaked the man. "I remember you there at the baptism, standing up for Jaime. Terry said you were a good man, a man's man; before you got… hurt." Jansen shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Mr. Jansen", Christie's voice was just has hard as her husband's, "we haven't seen Jaime Jansen since he was ten months old. You are the boy's grandfather. Surely you realize he will be completely bereft of anything familiar if he was to come to us, or anyone else other than people he know and loves."

"I can't take the kid. Maybe if my wife, Sylvia, was still alive, but not now. I work ten, twelve sometimes sixteen hours a day and I can barely keep my world together. I still paying hospital bills from my wife's cancer treatment and I'm only home to sleep and eat. I got nothing to give to a kid."

"We both work, Mr. Jansen. We both put in long hours." Christie cut the man no slack. "I have an important job for an international magazine and I have a full department in my control to get out all our assignments on a monthly basis. That does not begin to include the extra activities I must attend to keep my employers profile up."

"And I am a homicide detective," Jim started as soon as Christie stopped. "If I am working a murder there is every possibility that I'll be staying at work until the case is finished. Then there might be stake outs, shift changes and on the job injuries," he grimly tapped the side of his dark glasses.

The sound of embarrassed squirming seemed to fill the room.

"Speak up, Mr. Jansen, I can't read your body language."

"You both got resources I'm never gonna have," was Jansen's muttered reply.

It was time for Ms. Solomon to intervene. "I can assist the boy and whoever becomes his legal guardian in connecting with state and local social services to obtain whatever Jaime needs. He is still in pediatric intensive care, but soon he will be ready to be transferred to a hospital close to wherever he will live."

"Which should be a blood relative, like his grandfather," Jim ground out.

Jansen turned to the Dunbars, his pain filled eyes seeing only how short he fell in the couple's estimation. He switched his attention to Solomon. "You can take him, I can't handle this responsibility. Ms. Solomon, what do I have to do to make you understand I can't do it? Do I have to blow my brains out?"

Jim exploded, "don't threaten us with your suicide, Jansen. Step up to the plate and deal with your grandson. This is all you have left of your son."

"You think I don't know that? I've had to arrange a funeral for Terry and Anne and can't even think about what to do for the boy. I'm at the end of my rope."

Abby Solomon now took control of what was fast becoming a knock down, drag out fight. "I think we all need some time to cool off and then, perhaps, we can get together and work out what is in the best interests of Jaime."

"Tomorrow then," Jim stood up, snapped his cane together and was out the door before Christie was out of her seat. She hoped he would wait for her near the door but by the time she had made it into the hall Jim had gone in search of the elevator. She found him leaning against the wall, waiting for her.

"Where the hell am I?"

"The elevator is the other way. You're all turned around." Christie touched the back of his hand to let him know she was ready to guide him out the building to the car.

"No kidding I'm turned around. When is Terry Jansen going to quit screwing with my life. Damn it, I thought I was done with him after the Oliver case."

"You are finished with him."

"How? He's reaching out from beyond the grave to drag me back into his shit and his father is a bigger loser as he ever was. Is being a coward genetically programmed into the Jansen genes?"

"Excuse me," the voice of Abby Solomon interrupted them. "Mr. Dunbar, I can take your name off the list of possible guardians right now. The role of godfather is usually only honorary these days. You have no legal obligations toward Jaime."

Christie was nodding her head when Jim surprised her.

"No, leave my name on until tomorrow. I can't let the kid go without someone who'll watch out for him. I am going to ask you to look real hard to find the best solution to this situation."

The social worker smiled, "I'll do my best. Perhaps an open adoption is the best answer for all concerned. We can find a family who will love that little boy the way he deserved to be."

"Good, a child needs to be loved," Christie said as she squeezed her husband's hand.

"Everybody needs to be loved." Jim said as he squeezed back.

* * *

Rattle… thump… slap.

The sound of that damn hand ball had worn Christie down to her last nerve.

Rattle… thump… slap.

Poor Hank watched the ball hurtle past him; barely holding in check the urge to grab it, run and play catch me if you can.

Rattle… thump… slap.

Finally, she snapped, "will you please stop! Go scream or cry or hit a wall with your fist. Just stop throwing that annoying god damn ball. Jimmy, I swear if I hear that bell one more time I am going to shove that ball down your throat or up your…" Christie stopped herself.

Jim's eyebrows shot up, "up my what?" He shot her his version of a wide eyed, innocent look that was so comical that Christie snorted a half laugh. Then he held his arm out, an invitation for Christie to cuddle. "Ya know, I feel so sorry for Jaime, poor kid."

Christie sighed and snuggled closer. "Jaime. I always thought if we had a son we'd call him Jaime; Jimmy and Jaime, my two boys."

"Kids are a complication we never really thought through. Maybe we just were never meant to be parents. But ya know; none of this is Jaime Jansen's fault. I keep asking myself if things were different, what would I do?" Jim ran his hand through his hair and then stood up. "Keith Jansen is so damn useless. Yet, through all this, I never asked just how badly Jaime was hurt. Long Island Jewish was the closest Level One Trauma hospital to the accident but not the closest hospital. He must'a been hurt really bad."

"Yeah, I thought of that later too," Christie stood up and rubbed Jim's tense shoulders. "How do we get uninvolved later if we get involved now?"

He leaned back into her strong sure hands. "Maybe I should be the one stepping up to the plate."

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for all the reviews, I really love to get them. I'm just a bundle of ego waiting to be petted. Thanks to my beta for her help and suggestions. She should be petted too.

**An Unexpected Possibility**

Chapter Three

Marty banged his hand on the steering wheel. "That was a total waste of time. We'd a got more answers from the fricking horse."

Jim rubbed the bridge of his nose and tried to relax the tension that froze his neck and shoulders. Finally he managed to stretch and crack his neck.

"God, I hate when you do that," Russo shuddered, "it sounds so damn weird."

"But it feels so damn good," Dunbar grinned as he leaned his head back. "I don't think we're gonna find out who's been killing bookies by talking to anyone at Belmont."

"I never understood grown men throwing money away on horse races. Still, it got me outta Manhattan and into Queens." Marty started the car and headed to the exit of Belmont Park Race Track. "I always thought Floral Park would be a nice place to live. Think we can take the long way back and check it out."

Jim flipped his watch crystal open and checked the time. "Hey, we're about five minutes from New Hyde Park, how about you check that neighbourhood and I check Jaime Jansen at the hospital."

"Sure, how is the kid, anyway?"

"Compound fracture in his left leg, bad concussion but he's out of ICU and in with the other kids," Jim bit his lip, "I was told he's asking about his Mom and Dad. Since I'm here, I figured I'd…"

"Sure, Floral Park, New Hyde Park, Belmont Park; I'll pretend I'm like you and can't tell the difference. Tell ya what, I'll go get a coffee and wait for you. Just don't take forever. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay… and thanks."

In less than ten minutes Jim and Hank were walking into the paediatric wing of Long Island Jewish Hospital. Social worker Abby Solomon hurried to meet him there. She hadn't expected Detective Dunbar to show up today at 11:00 AM and was even more surprised that he wanted to see the Jansen boy.

"I didn't know I'd be in the area, but a lead sent us to Belmont Park Race Track and I just too close not to slip in to see Jaime." It was all the explanation Jim was willing to give.

"Well, he's a very confused little boy right now. He needs to be told the truth about the accident. We will tell him if we must, but I believe it should be someone he trusts,"

"Jaime doesn't know me and I'm… not what he's used to. I may frighten him. What about Keith Jansen?"

"Mr. Jansen hasn't seen the child since he arrived to arrange the burial of his son and daughter in law. Mr. Dunbar, Jaime is three; I'd be worried if he wasn't frightened and confused." Ms. Solomon looked down at Hank and smiled. "Sometimes having a dog is the perfect conversation starter with children. If you're ready, I'll take you to Jaime. Just follow me."

The antiseptic smell of the hospital was off set by the sounds of cartoons, subdued laughter and quiet play. The echo of his footsteps changed as he passed the play areas and patient rooms. Paediatrics was truly a different world from the hospital experience he had when his life had been turned up side down. Yet that was what he was about to do to a little boy who would probably never remember his old world.

"We're here," Abby Solomon's abrupt stop jarred Jim out of his reverie. "Would you like me to come in with you?"

"No, I'll take it from here," he straightened his shoulders and gripped Hank's harness a little tighter."

"Okay, the door is on your right and Jaime's bed is in the right hand corner; about two o'clock from the door. Good luck, Mr. Dunbar."

Jim slowly entered the room, "Jaime, are you awake?"

"Yes," a small, soft voice barely registered in Jim's ears.

Jim zeroed in and carefully approached the child. "Hi, my name is Jim Dunbar, I knew… uh know your Mom and Dad."

"I 'member you."

Hank led Jim across the room to the occupied bed. Gently he reached out, expecting to hunt for Jaime in the oversized crib when the boy reached out and grabbed Dunbar's hand.

"I hurt my leg."

Jim reached over and found the heavy cast that covered Jaime's leg from above the knee to his toes. "Oh, your piggies are cold," Jim gave them a light squeeze that made the boy hiccup. "I heard all about what happened. You were in a car accident. Do you remember that?"

"No," tears now stained the little voice. "I wan my Mommy."

Jim hesitated a moment, there were just so many things that could go wrong with this situation. He had come on a whim with no intention other than seeing just how badly the kid was hurt. But after the first shuddering sniffle he couldn't help himself; Jim bent over, reached down and pulled the boy into a hug. It was like a switch for Jaime to cry and the boy wailed so that Jim groped awkwardly around the small shuddering body to find the call button and get a nurse. He didn't need to call; one was behind him almost immediately.

"Is there a chair near, I think I need a lap." Soon Jim was in a recliner with Jaime Jansen carefully positioned across his knees. There was no more talking, no horrible truths told, Jim simply held the child close and let Jaime exhaust his tears and fall asleep.

"Dunbar," Marty's voice startled Jim, "your hour was up about twenty minutes ago." He heard Russo drag a chair close and sit down. "Once the bruise on his face fades he is going to be a good looking kid. I like curly hair on little kids, makes them cuter, don't you think?"

Jim's hand went through the curls on the child's head, nodded and then explored with tentative fingers down the side. He felt the swelling and scrapes there and imagined the extent of the injury covering this small, round face.

"Marty, would you help me get Jaime back into bed?"

"Sure," a startled Russo got up and steadied the boy when Jim righted the recliner and stood up. Marty wasn't used to Dunbar asking for help with anything; he must really have wanted to ease the boy into bed without waking him. It didn't work out that way.

"Where ya goin'" Jaime asked with his sleep heavy voice.

"Back to work, gotta catch the bad guys." Jim smiled as he pulled a blanket over Jaime.

"Just like Daddy?"

"Yeah, just like Daddy. See you later ,squirt."

"Bye bye."

Jim waited until he was sure Jaime was asleep before calling Hank up to grab the U shaped harness. "We gotta get back to work."

"Too bad, it would be nice to stay with the little guy all day," Marty said as he turned to leave, knowing Hank would follow.

"That's okay, I'll be back."

* * *

"Boss Lady," Ned's voice popped out of the intercom, "there's a handsome dog with a cop attached here to see you. What should I do with the pair?" 

"Keep you hands off'em and send them in." Christie turned off the computer monitor and rose to meet her husband.

"To what do I owe this pleasure," she said as Jim and Hank walked in. "This isn't an official visit, is it?"

"I wanted to run something by you and figured it would be better face to face." Jim said as he stopped a few feet into the office and didn't reach out for his wife.

Christie leaned back against the front of her desk. "This must be serious for you to come here in the middle of the day."

"I want to go to Terry Jansen's viewing tonight, his wake."

"Whatever for," she reached out and touched his arm, hoping to encourage Jim to talk some more.

"Marty and I were at Belmont Park today so I managed a quick visit to Jaime Jansen and a talk with Abby Solomon. I guess I just realized today that Terry can't hurt me anymore unless I let him, but that poor, little guy is just one big bundle of hurt. I'm going to the wake to, hopefully, talk quietly with Keith Jansen and see if there's anyone closer to the boy who might be able to help. I can't let that man ruin Jaime's life."

"Do you want me to go with you?" Christie's hand was on his shoulder now and Jim leaned his cheek across her smooth fingers.

"No, I think maybe it would be better if I did this alone. I'll haven't seen most of these people since the bank robbery and I don't want to look as if I'm so… I don't know… so disgusted, angry or whatever at Terry that I wouldn't go to his wake. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I think I do."

"I'm glad. 'Cause up until two seconds ago I wasn't sure I did."

Christie leaned over and kissed Jim's cheek, "I'll be home when you get there tonight and we'll talk then."

"Thanks, 'cause I don't want to have to go to Esther to 'verbalize' about this somewhere down the line." Jim reached out with his right hand and snaked it around Christie's waist. "I guess I just needed to be close to you when I said this."

Christie smiled and kissed him again.

"Hey, careful or Russo will have a field day bitching I came here just to get some afternoon action. He's a very jealous man when it comes to special treatment."

"Then let him wait a few more minutes so he thinks he has something to really bitch about."

"Sounds good to me," Jim smiled and they kissed again… twice.

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks for the reviews, I can't tell you how much I enjoy getting them. It keeps me coming back and writing more.

**An Unexpected Possibility**

Chapter Four

Jim left Hank at home, deciding he looked a little less conspicuous without the guide dog. While waiting for his cab Jim carefully straightened his tie; fingering the knot and tracing down to make sure the tips were even. He knew his shirt was pearl grey and his suit was charcoal, he knew his fingernails were clean, his fly was zipped and his glasses covered his eyes, yet he felt like he would be walking into the place naked, exposed to the people he had been forced to leave behind. God, he almost wished he had Christie instead of the white cane to get him there, but that would look too blind. How blind was too blind?

Jim stepped out of the cab at the funeral home. He hoped the cabby had dropped him off directly in front of the entrance as he had asked. Jim reached into his coat and unfolded his cane, sweeping it gently from side to side to check the sidewalk. Making sure he wasn't going to fall flat on his face in front of everyone who hadn't seen him blind before.

"Jimmy," the voice was at ten o'clock to him, "you came. I didn't think you'd show your face here."

"Carl?" Jim turned toward the voice and shrugged. "Why would you think I'd stay away?"

"Glen Semple said… ha, who the hell cares what Semple said. That fat bastard finally retired." Carl Grey stepped closer to his old squad mate. "It sure is good to see you, Jimmy." The man winced at his own words, but it didn't seem to bother Jim.

"Good to see you too," Jim answered. He bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, wondering who would make the next move.

"Ah, screw it," Carl laughed and enveloped Jim in a large, back pounding hug. "Where the hell have you been keeping yourself? Why didn't you phone?"

"Hey, that phone line works both ways," Jim relaxed and finally smiled. Stepping back he ran his hands down Carl's coat sleeves and felt the suede elbow patches there. "Why are you still hanging on to this ratty old coat? It's old enough to vote."

"Good taste never goes out of style, Mr. Trend Setter." Carl stepped back to carefully check Dunbar over. "It's been too long. Wanna come in with me?"

"Yeah, that would be good," Jim said as he re-folded the long white cane. "You know how to do this?"

"Yeah, I learned when I heard you were being reinstated and then One PP sent you to the Eighth instead of home. You been there awhile now, you settled in.?"

"Yeah, but it sure isn't the two five. I miss you guys."

"Not for long; almost all of us are here. It'll be like a homecoming party, except it won't." Carl tapped the back of Jim's hand and offered his arm to guide him. "Ya know, most of us figured out what happened at the bank, that's why Terry ended up with Semple; but afterwards that thing at the Eighth, we got no clue what went down. What did happen?"

"It was a bad day," Jim gave his standard answer. "Hey, its cold out here, we better get inside."

* * *

Jim's grip on Carl's arm tightened as they entered the building and again when they stopped at the entrance to the viewing room. A young mortician in training smiled and approached the men. "We have a memorial book for the guests to sign. Come this way, please."

Carl took the pen and quickly signed his name and was about the put down the pen when he noticed Jim's hand outstretched, waiting for the pen. Then he handed Carl a small plastic card with a long, rectangular hole in the middle.

"Could you put this on an empty spot for me," Jim waited for Carl to line the card over a free space and then he signed his name in the open slot in the card.

"Hey, that's smart."

"Adaptive technology," Jim said with a smirk.

"Good thing it's simple, otherwise you probably couldn't handle it," snarked a man from behind them.

Jim swung around, "Lieutenant Davies?"

"In the flesh, Dumbar."

"That's Dunbar, ya hump you," the back slapping started all over again.

"It's too bad this is what it takes to get you back with your squad," his old boss said as he looked Jim up and down. "You know I tried to visit, don'cha?"

"Yeah, I know, it wasn't a good time and then I got busy and time just went by so damn fast." Jim knew his excuses were lame but they were the only ones he had. "We better go in, Carl?" He waited for the touch that signaled his friend was ready to guide him in and then the three men entered to say a last good bye to Terry and Anne Jansen.

The murmur of subdued conversation stopped when Jim Dunbar came through the door. Carl Grey took him to the caskets, skirted the padded kneeler and stood silently waiting for Jim to do whatever he would do. Jim reached out and laid his hand on the smooth wooden box and tried to conjure up an image of Terry that didn't involve him sweating, shaking or frozen in place. He couldn't do it. The image of a weak and cowardly Terry Jansen was fried into his brain and it erased every good image that had ever been there. He couldn't even say good bye or good riddance. There just wasn't anything to say.

"You came," Keith Jansen came beside Jim. "I wasn't sure you would."

"Terry was my partner for three years."

"He was my son for thirty nine." Jansen grabbed Jim by the arm and pulled him to the side. "I've got family somewhere, but I don't know where. I had two brothers, they both died in Viet Nam. I just can't take the boy."

"Jaime, he has a name." Jim anger was rising with each word the man said.

"I don't care," Jansen's voice was lifeless.

Jim shook the man's hand off his arm turned and took two steps forward.

It was as if Lieutenant Davies had been waiting for Jim to finish with Jansen. "Hey, Dumbar, we're heading outta here to give Terry a real wake, an Irish wake if you know what I mean."

"Boss, you're about as Irish as Kunta Kinte, but that never stopped me from drinking on your dime." He took out his cane and tapped it on the floor, "let's get the hell outta here."

"That's the Dumbar I remember," Davies slapped Jim on the back once more, not realizing just how these unexpected 'love taps' set Jim's teeth on edge. "The door is straight ahead about ten feet, let me get the rest of the guys and we'll get going."

By the time the members of the two five, past and present, walked into the nearest bar they were nine in number. The Boss, Carl and Jimmy D led the way with George Latimer, Sergio Marzarro and Jenny Burke right behind them. Homer James and Nancy Philpot dragged Kevin O'Hara almost against his will.

"Ya gotta meet Kevin," Homer pushed the youngest detective at Dunbar, "the stuff he found in your desk made him blush for a week. I woulda kept it for you, but those rubbers had expiration dates on them, ya know."

"Oh, God, look at that," Sergio crowed as he handed drinks all around, "little Jimmy Dunbar is blushing."

Laughter echoed off the walls of the narrow pub. The smell of spilt beer and sawdust and the rough feel of the scarred bar told Jim he was in a neighborhood drinking hole with no pretensions of grandeur. He cradled the cool shot glass in his hand while he listened to his old friends sort themselves out on the stools that lined the slick bar.

Davies cleared his throat. "He wasn't a cop anymore, but Terry Jansen was with the twenty fifth precinct for almost five years. He knew how to work a case and how to follow orders and sometimes that's what you need to do. Terry, wherever you and where ever you're going; good journey." They all shot back the drinks. "Oh, this rot gut is the worst. Bar keep, if you got anything better set us up again"

Liquor filled the shots once more.

"Terry," Jenny Burke raised her glass. "You were a good guy."

As the toasts went up and the shots went down Jim realized that these were the most generic and ambiguous sentiments he had ever heard.

"Terry," Jim stood up and the group went silent. "There were times I wanted to kick your ass and there were times I cursed you name, but I never wished you dead. I sorry your gone, Terry, you were too damn young."

Here heres sounded as this last toast was drunk. Soon the party broke up and everyone headed home.

"Jimmy," he felt Nancy Philpot's boozy breath tickle his ear as her hand caressed the inside of his thigh. "It's a long way to DUMBO and that up tight little wifey of yours. Why don't you come home with me? I seem to remember you used to play very well when the lights went out."

Jim turned his head toward where he thought Nancy's face was. He reached up and traced the line of her cheek and ran his fingers down to her chin.

"Nancy, I got a secret to tell you. Don't get me wrong baby, but that guy you wanna take home tonight died on a sidewalk in front of a bank. When I get home tonight I know I'll get a cold shoulder and an earful, but I know that my up tight little wifey was always there. What happened to you two years ago? Did you break every one of your fingers so you couldn't dial a phone?"

The woman pulled herself up with an over exaggerated attempt at dignity.

"You didn't return any of the phone calls," she said slowly and precisely.

"But I know who called, even Anne Donnelly called and you never did. Go find someone else to scratch that itch, baby. I'm going home." Jim heard Nancy's angry footsteps leave the place as he turned back to the bar. "I need a coffee and a cab, in that order."

"Right away, sir," was the quick answer he got as he got ready to go home."

* * *

His pager screamed far too early the next morning.

"Ouch," Jim tried to bury himself deeper in his bed.

"Wake up, party boy," Christie sneered as she pulled the covers off her hung over husband, "duty calls."

"Tell them I'm dead," Jim swung his feet over the side of the bed and his world started to spin.

"Don't you dare throw up on my hard wood floor," Christie screamed as she shoved the bedside wastebasket into Jim's hands.

"I am not gonna barf, no matter now much I might want to," he moaned and dropped the metal bucket on the floor.

"I've made coffee, but I have to go now. Are you going to be all right getting to work today?"

"I'll get there." He levered himself out of the bed and staggered to the bathroom. "Christie, was I always this much of a horse's ass when I was in the two five.?"

"Yes, you were," the sarcasm laced sweetness in her voice hurt Jim's ears. Then she walked to him and put her hand on his forehead, "but you aren't as big a horse's ass anymore."

"You're only saying that because it's true."

"You're right, it's true, now get to work… I'll see you tonight," and with that she grabbed her things and was out the door.

Jim smiled a small, slightly painful, smile. He had changed and, maybe, he had changed enough to do what he had to.

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry you had to wait so long, but I wanted this to be right. I thank my beta again... it was a choice that I never expected to happen and neither did she, but my beta is thorough and asks the right questions. I hope she'll keep doing the job.

**An Unexpected Possibility**

Chapter Five

"I gotta say I've never seen that shade of green before," Tom leaned into Marty. "Lime green, slime green maybe or… ahh… grass green; yeah that is what I'm seeing right now, grass green around the gills."

Even though they sat at the same table Jim tried to ignore his squad mates and eat his lunch but just the smell of his food was turning his stomach.

"It's the eyes that get me," Marty added, "I haven't seen eyes that red that didn't have blood running out of them. You know what my gramps called eyes like that, two piss holes in the snow."

"Now that just killed any appetite I might've had," Jim pushed his lunch aside. "Is there anything else either of you sadists want to say before I walk Hank?"

"Hold on a second, man, I sure we can think of something else," Tom laughed and high fived Marty.

"Tom, I never knew you were such a cruel bastard."

"What do you expect when you won't tell us why you got so blotto last night? Fess up, Dunbar, tell the truth and shame the devil."

Jim shook his head. "I went out with friends from the two five and we got talking and drinking and talking and drinking and… hey, Glen Semple retired."

"I'd drink to that," Marty's voice rang out. "Jim, I didn't figure you to be a lightweight."

"Yeah, I'm a lightweight," Jim said, "Hank, come on and let this light  
weight take you for a walk." He felt so damn hung over he hoped that tonight would be as simple as possible.

* * *

"What are we supposed to do?" Christie shuffled through the papers that Abby Solomon had Fedexed to her office that day. "Keith Jansen has completely signed away any rights or responsibilities he had to Jaime to the state. He says he hopes we can find it in our hearts to do the right thing. What about him doing the right thing for his grandchild? Ms. Solomon thinks she might be able to have custody come to us if we want it because you are the godfather on record at the Jansen's church. Did you sign anything back there that said you would take responsibility for the boy?"

Jim had been pacing back and forth between the kitchen island and the couch. The sound of the papers had captured his attention and he turned toward it. Christie's question hit Jim to the core because he didn't have any more ideas on how to proceed than she did. Finally he sat down next to his wife and placed his hand on her arm.

"I'm a cop, someone could pull a few strings and get Jaime here, anything to keep him out of foster care." Jim didn't know how to say this and wasn't sure if his wife would understand. "Christie, I don't know if I could do any better than Keith Jansen."

Christie stared hard at Jim's face. "How can you say that? That man never had any intention of taking care of that child. At least we are looking into the possibility of doing just that."

"Yeah, but be realistic. I don't know if I could handle a kid. There'll be toys all over the place. Can you see me trying to teach Jaime about things a kid needs to know?"

Christie bolted off the couch. "How can you say that? You just don't want to try."

"Christie?" Jim's ears tried to follow her movements but she was bare foot and her steps were nearly silent. "Christie, this is just what I'm talking about. What would I do if Jaime decided to hide behind a tree? Is there any way I could find him?"

"And what would you have done if things had turned out differently, if we had a child… or a child on the way? What if this is what our lives were supposed to be from the beginning?"

His voice was hard, "you mean this is my fate, blind and childless. Just what did I do to deserve this 'karma'? Did I kick puppies or did I drown kittens? What does your pre-destination meter tell you 'cause if I had any say in the matter things would sure as hell be different."

"I've lost a lot too. I foolishly imagined I was one of the lucky ones, but I found out that luck isn't what you get, but what you do with what you get." From her vantage point Christie watched several emotions wash across Jim's face before it fell into his impassive mask of indifference. We'll, she thought, if I can't pull a rabbit out of my hat now there will never be another chance. "Well it's up to you, deal with Jaime Jansen now when there is a chance we have of effecting his life for the good or wait fifteen years and arrest him for something like arson or murder because that's probably all he'd learn going into the foster care system in this city." With that Christie turned and went into the bedroom, alone.

It wasn't long before she heard Jim come into the bedroom and sit on the end of the bed. He was silent for several minutes, elbows on knees, cradling his head in his hands. "What if I turn into my old man? It was too damned easy to get drunk and stupid last night. I was there to go to a wake and I went to a party."

Christie sat up and looked at Jim and realized what the problem truly was. "You're afraid, aren't you? Afraid you'll turn into your father. Jimmy, you are not your father. You have never done anything even remotely like the things Mom told me your dad did. You did what it took to get out of Red Hook. You can't tell me there haven't been times when you had to make the choice between right and wrong; for every wrong choice there have been five right ones. Next, I want to thank you for telling me what was eating at you. You've changed, even if only a little, but it in the right direction. I am very proud of you."

Jim turned and got under the covers next to his wife. He brought his hand to her face and felt the traces of tears he thought he heard in her voice. "What if I can't get past the fact that this is Terry Jansen's son? What if I can't give him what he needs because of that?"

"I don't know. All I know is it isn't fair to you, me or Jaime to drag this out any longer." Christie shifted over and slipped into Jim's arms, "I'll take those papers over to our legal department tomorrow and we'll get things straightened out as soon as we can."

"Thanks, Boss," Jim said and kissed her forehead.

"You can do better than that, officer," and with that she pulled his lips down to hers and kissed him deeply. Jim tightened his arms, held Christie close and ran his fingers through her thick, dark hair. After all, he was just obeying orders.

* * *

Jaime colored in the playroom. Sitting all alone in a little blue wheelchair; he looked very small and forlorn. Looking up he saw the nice man with the dog and a pretty lady come in with Ms. Solomon. _He looks mean today,_ Jaime thought as he slid down as far as his little butt would go. Still, the man said he'd come back and he did.

"'lo," Jaime's squeaky voice drew Jim's attention. "You brought de doggie again."

Jim heard the sound of the rubber wheels and waited until he felt the boy touch Hank's head. He crouched down and laid his hand on Jaime's small one. "When Hank has this harness on, he's working but I'll take it off so he can be a plain old dog. Does that sound okay?"

"Yeah," he smiled widely as Jim undid the stiff leather harness. Jaime was positively incandescent as he waited for Hank to be free. The dog shook himself from nose to toes and let Jaime run his fingers in his thick coat.

"He's a funny doggie," the boy laughed but as he looked at the adults surrounding him Jaime felt the tension building even though he didn't understand what or why.

"Jaime, it's almost time for you to go home." Ms. Solomon started.

"Are Mommy and Daddy coming to get me?"

The grown ups started to act funny, Jaime knew something was happening they didn't want him to know.

"Where's Mommy," his voice got louder. Jaime had waited patiently for days and he was not waiting anymore. "Daddy gotta come here now!"

Christie crouched down so she could be eye level with the child. "Jaime, we have come to talk to you about your Mommy and Daddy."

The boy's lower lip began to tremble; he knew something was wrong, very wrong. It has been too long since he had seen his parents. He was hurt and his Mommy never came to hug him. He was scared and his Daddy never came to tuck him in at night. Jaime had had five days without kisses and hugs from his parents. Tears began to fall.

Abby Solomon hustled the trio out of the playroom, back to Jaime's room. Jim was back in the recliner and waited while Jaime was settled on his lap.

"Big guy, we have something to talk about that is very important. If you don't understand anything, just ask, is that okay?" Jim felt the boy's head nod against his chest. "Do you remember last Sunday, when you went out with your Mom and Dad?"

"Shopping and McDonald's b'cause I was a good boy."

"Do you remember the car accident?" Jim was hoping he wasn't overwhelming the boy. Jaime was almost four, but still too young to comprehend all the things that had happened this past week. Things had to be scaled down to tiny bits that Jaime could understand. That was when he felt Christie's hands come to rest lightly on his shoulders.

"You are such a good boy," Christie voice seemed to relax Jaime. "We just have some news for you."

"Yeah," Jim went on. "Well, even if you don't remember the accident, you can see the booboo on your leg." His hand made a quick tap on the cast.

"It's blue."

"Really, I bet it looks nice, but I bet it hurts." Jim hoped he felt another nod. "Your Mom and Dad were hurt too. They were hurt real bad."

"They gots lots of big booboos?" Jaime's voice went high with fear.

"Yeah, 'fraid so, they were hurt so bad that the doctors couldn't fix them." Jaime went rigid in Jim's arms. "Jaime, you Mom and Dad died." Christie shifted herself and took the chair placed next to Jim. This way she was again looking directly onto the boy's face.

"They gots to get better. I gots to go home."

"Jaime," Christie started talking now, "Your Mom and Dad didn't want to die, but sometimes bad things just happen. They wanted to stay but they couldn't help it. Your parents wanted us to help you if anything happened and that's why we're here. Will you let us help you?"

"No, I wanna go home."

"Jaime, I'm sorry but for now you can't go home." Christie's heart almost broke as she watched Jaime Jansen's face crumple into sad, hurt tears.

Jim had never stopped gently rubbing small circles on Jaime's back during the conversation. "I know what we'll do. We'll go to your house and get your favorite things and bring them to our house and then when you come there it won't seem so different. How does that sound?"

Jaime just sat on Jim's lap, a little bundle of misery wound tight in his grief and fear. Jim just kept on his massage while Christie murmured soft nonsense words hoping they were part of the comfort Jaime needed.

"I need my bike," Jaime finally said, "'n my teddy 'n my Lego 'n my Spiderman pillow." He then seemed to run out of steam.

"Okay, we'll get those things and more. You can come stay with us, okay?"

"For a little while, 'til I can go home."

"That's okay; you can stay until its time for you to go home."

With Christie holding his hand and Jim supplying a comfortable place to sit Jaime Jansen went to sleep.

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

**An Unexpected Possibility**

Chapter Six

Dolores Sanchez missed her next door neighbours. As she sat on the couch with the husband as the wife went rifling through Jaime's bedroom all she felt was contempt for these interlopers. For the past week Dolores had come in every day and dusted the furniture, watered the plants and collected the mail. It had seemed like Terry and Annie were simply on vacation and soon they'd be back. Today, even more than going to the funeral and seeing those closed caskets, the fact that the Jansens were gone finally sunk in. The whole charade had been stripped away, her friends were never coming home.

"Mrs. Sanchez," Dolores realized the man beside her was talking to her.

"Yes, Mr. Dunbar," she hoped she sounded pleasant, but blind people scared  
the _bejesus_ out of her.

"We'd like to pay you to keep on eye on the house until probate is finished  
and it can be sold."

"Oh, do you mean Jaime is never coming back here?" _God that was a stupid  
question._

The man talked slowly now, as if dealing with a small child. "Mrs. Sanchez, Jaime  
is only four years old. If we properly invest the money the sale of this house it will pay for his higher education when the time comes."

"Yes, I know," the woman sighed, "it's just I thought I'd see him again. It's almost like he died too."

"Mrs. Sanchez, we'll bring Jaime around before anything is done with the sale of the house. He'll be saying his good bye to the place and I think having familiar faces here would be a good thing." The man stood and turned to her. "We'll lock up when we leave."

She was being dismissed and she knew it. "I'm just a phone call away, Mr. Dunbar. Please, let me know how Jaime is doing, he's a good little boy."

Jim had taken Hank's harness off as soon as they entered the house, but his dog hadn't left his side. Hank was smarter then Jim about some things. He knew better than to allow his master to be left alone in this strange, crowded space. Jim, for the first time in a long time, had his cane out inside a house. The layout of the furniture and the floor bombs of forgotten toys made this place an obstacle course.

"Jimmy, did I hear the door?" Christie's voice came from above. She was still in the bedrooms.

"Yeah, I think Mrs. Sanchez realized we weren't here to steal the silverware." Jim stood up and stretched. The tension he felt when he walked into this place was tying his whole body into knots. Turning to his right Jim carefully made his way to the staircase. "Do you need any help?"

"Yeah, come on up here. But be extra careful, there are piles of dirty clothes all over the place. Annie was obviously going to do laundry when she got home. I'll add it to the list of things to have done." Christie walked to the head of the stairs and watched her husband come up to join her. "Maybe we should gather Jaime's dirty clothes and bring them back with us too."

"Yeah," Jim answered as he reached her, "I bet his 'bestest' stuff is there."

"Of course, the bestest stuff is what you wear the most," Christie laughed as she reached for Jim's hand. "This way to Jaime's bedroom," she said as she led him to the disaster that was the boy's special place.

"What is that smell?"

"Jim, I hope it's the glass of milk on the dresser. I think its developing a life form capable of conquering the Martians. I just found it under the bed when you called. I'll flush it now." As Christie left with the offending glass Jim searched for, found and opened a window. It helped, marginally.

Jim checked the window sill carefully, searching for treasures because this was where he put his special finds when he was a kid. There were three oddly shaped rocks, a stack of cards and a car with a broken wheel. Jim rolled them gently through his fingers and smiled. These were important to Jaime or they would have been on the floor.

"Penny for your thoughts," Christie's voice broke through his reverie.

"Just remembering when I was a kid. I shared my room with my brothers and I had to hide anything I wanted to keep for myself." He turned 180 degrees from the window. "Jaime kept his special stuff in the same place."

Christie looked at the things in Jim's hands and wrinkled her nose. "Those are filthy, we'll throw them out and I bet Jaime won't even notice they're gone. Now, tell me truthfully, does a four year old boy need seventeen broken wind up cars?"

"Yeah, he does." Jim leaned back on the window sill. "We will bring every toy in here and let Jaime deal with them when we get him home." But, Jim thought to himself, to Jaime Jansen, this place was home. This place was the perhaps, the last place he could be right now no matter how much we would want to stay.

* * *

When they got home Jim and Christie stacked the boxes in the guest room. They hadn't decided what to do about the furniture yet. Jaime's bedroom furnishings were fibre board and plastic, throw away pieces that the boy would soon outgrow. But they were Jaime's things, pieces that said home to him, made his world stable and safe

"Well, are we ready?" Christie said as she put the Spiderman pillow on the double wedding ring quilt that covered the queen sized bed.

"No, no way on earth are we ready," Jim said as he leaned against the doorframe. "This is gonna be very hard on him and on us. The fact I was the one to get the time off to help Jaime 'integrate' into the family blows my mind. Maybe you need a magazine editor's union for just such emergencies."

"Don't tempt me, I may start one." Christie walked up to Jim and touched his shoulder. "Time for bed, we're lucky Abby Solomon could bring him here tomorrow, bright and early."

"Bright and early on a Sunday morning is not a convenience, it's a punishment." Jim pulled Christie close and nuzzled her neck, "how about one last night of child free, noisy sex, Mrs. Dunbar."

"Sure. Just remember I'm not the screamer, Mr. Dunbar." She smiled as she let Jim lead her into the bedroom.

Morning came too soon. Of course Christie was out getting fresh bagels and the Sunday Times when the intercom buzzed. Why would anything about this situation be easy?

"We're here," Abby Solomon's over bright voice grated on Jim's ears when he got the door open. It was the odd thumping gait that told Jim that Jaime was using crutches now.

"Well, hello there. You got rid of the wheelchair," Jim hoped he didn't sound as bogus to the child as he did to himself.

"Yeah," was the whispered reply and then Jaime's volume increased? "Hank! He's here."

"Yeah, he lives here." Jim smiled as he heard the boy try to run to the dog. "Whoa there, pardner, I don't want you to break your other leg." With that Jim escorted both Ms. Solomon and Jaime inside.

"Oh my, this is a beautiful place," the woman was clearly impressed by the condo. "I've never been inside one of these condos before."

"Well, Christie's grandparent's had money and this was a wedding present."

"All I got from my Bubbie was a silver plated menorah," she laughed good naturedly. "Now, if I may I'll check out the bedroom Jaime will stay in and then I'll be gone."

"Don't you want to wait for Christie to get back?" Jim wasn't ready to be left alone in his home with Terry Jansen's son, not just yet.

"No, I think Jaime should start getting used to being with you as soon as possible." Ms. Solomon turned to the nervous man behind her. "I represent a very scary place for him. I'm hoping when I leave he'll feel safe here. If Jaime becomes frightened, please feel free to call me and I'll come to take him back to the hospital tonight, but he can't really stay any longer than that."

Jim chewed his bottom lip and then sighed. "I guess I'll have to trust your judgement on this. Come on, the room is this way."

Jaime was on the floor with Hank when Ms. Solomon came over to him and sat down beside him.

"Jaime, I have to go now. Do you remember what we talked about before we came here?"

Jaime let go of the dog and turned to the social worker. "This is the place I'm gonna live from now on. Mommy and Daddy wanted me to be here if they couldn't take care of me and now I'm here."

"Yes," she hugged the little boy with a quick, tight embrace, "but you can call me whenever you need to. I hope you want to call me."

Jaime just dropped his head and smiled. Ms. Solomon was a nice lady and she talked to him like he was a big boy. He liked that a lot.

"I have to go now," she stood up and pulled Jaime up too. "Good bye, sweetie," and with a kiss and a minimum of fuss, Abby Solomon was gone.

But Mr. Dunbar was right behind him.

"Jaime, would you like to see your room here?" Jim waited in the silence and wondered if the boy was nodding. This was something that had to be taken care of right away, so Jim crouched down and turned Jaime so the boy faced him. "Jaime, you have to use words with me. I can't tell if you nod or shake your head or shrug your shoulders. I can't see you."

Jaime frowned and looked intently into Jim's unfocused blue eyes. He wanted to touch them, to see if they were real but was afraid if he poked one of those funny looking eyes Mr. Dunbar would be mad.

"Do you understand, Jaime?"

"Did you break your eyes like I breaked my leg?" The boy wondered if this question would make the man mad at him.

"Sort of," Jim smiled, "but they won't get better the way your leg will, so we just have to use words, okay?"

"Okay, I promise to not shut up."

"Good, I think," Jim straightened up, "follow me." He headed to the door opposite the master bedroom door and opened it wide. The sound of Jaime's awkward walk told Jim when the boy passed him and when he stopped. "Do you like it?"

"My Spiderman pillow, you remembered it." Jaime twisted round and hugged Jim's legs before he started to closely examine the room. "My clothes are here too, and my bear and my books."

"There are more of your things in the boxes by the closet. We'll look at them when Christie gets back." Jim sat down on the bed, patted the spot beside him and waited for Jaime to join him there. "I have some things I found that I thought were very important," with that Jim reached over to the night stand and opened the top drawer. Inside were the threerocks, the broken car and the stack of cards he had found on the window sill yesterday.

"My baseball cards," the boy squeaked, "Daddy bought them for me. And my rocks, look at all the pretty colours and my racing car. Dad said he'd fix it for me." Then Jaime stopped and leaned away from Jim. "Dad can't fix nothin' now."

"No, he can't," Jim wondered if this was still such a good idea, trying to help this child by bringing him into a new place with people he didn't know.

"Can you fix it?" Jim felt the toy being thrust at him. He took it and carefully examined it with his finger tips. Only the front wheel was twisted in and the rubber tire off the plastic hub and hanging under the frame. Carefully Jim pulled the little tire back over the rim and ran his fingertip around it to make sure it was snug. Then he felt the stiff, wire axle and realized the bend would only need a gentle nudge with a pair of pliers to straighten it out.

"Yeah, I can fix it; I just need the right tools."

"That's what Daddy said before we went shopping." Jaime leaned against Jim's side, "thank you, Mr. Dunbar."

Jim ruffled the top of the boy's head. "You'd better call me Jimmy. My friends call me Jimmy and I think we are going to be friends."

**Fin**

Thanks for reading this fluffy little story. It was for all of you who were angry that I made the Dunbars childless. Well, this may not be the end of Jaime Jansen and the Dunbars and it isn't going to be easy, but I hope I can make a story worth reading.

Thanks you again to my beta and to everyone of you who were subjected to my pleas of "Read this and tell me id it works." You are all great friends to this poor child who need her ego boosted so often.


End file.
